


Both Sides, Now

by HaniBani



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Family Drama, The Quebec Act of 1774
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniBani/pseuds/HaniBani
Summary: When England had mentioned there'd been a proclamation, Matthew had expected something along the lines of a new kind of tax, or perhaps the announcement of more troops settling in to fortify the city. Never could he have predicted its actual contents. — A fic based on the rising tensions leading up to the American Revolution.





	Both Sides, Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Revolutionary Change + Movie Poster Contest by Hetabee on DeviantArt.
> 
> Edit: I'm so happy and proud to say that I won the fanfiction portion of the contest! Thank you so much!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not approve of the use of the term “Indian” in reference to Native American people — however, it was a term used widely by the western world and the colonists during this time period.

The sound of a fiddle carried through a modest house nestled in a grove of pine trees. Bouncing off the sturdy, wooden walls, the music sailed from room to room until it found an outlet in an open window and flew through to greet the forest. A teenage boy leaned there against the upholstered sill, gazing out the window at the pine needles that were strewn over the ground as he absently dragged his bow over a simple tune. The heat of the June sun had been tempered by the canopy of trees above, and a pleasant breeze entered the study and ruffled a few pages of a book left open on a nearby desk. The boy paused and precariously gripped the fiddle between his chin and shoulder, nudging the window wider with his elbow in hopes of letting in more of the cool air.

He’d been here for hours, having already helped with the horses, firewood, milk and eggs, and the laundry, which was now swaying over a clothesline strung across the space between two trees. He didn’t feel like swimming, or hunting, and he _certainly_ didn’t feel like addressing the ever-growing mountain of documents pinned to his desk with a large rock. So instead, the boy tilted his head back against the molding and switched to a more upbeat song. 

When the sun was already well overhead, his playing was interrupted by a soft knock on the doorframe. He turned to see Lonore, a tall woman with a kind face — she, along with her husband, lived in the house with the boy, and together the two adults acted as something of a cross between caretakers of the estate and surrogate guardians for himself.

“That’s very lovely,” she commented. “It’s a shame to ask you to stop, but there’s a man here to see you.”

“Anyone we know?” the boy asked, blinking as he set down the fiddle.

“I’ve never met him before, but he says he knows you well.”

The boy gasped. _“At the front door, you said?”_ he exclaimed as he leapt off the sill.

“Oh, well, I didn’t, but yes-“

Lenore was cut off as the boy rushed past her. He dashed through the hallway to the staircase, descended it in two seconds, and as he swung around the corner to face the front of the house, he breathed in hushed excitement, _“Fra-_ “

“Yes, it really is — the ride over was quite beautiful.”

The boy froze and felt his rib cage deflate as the name on his lips dissolved. There, in the drawing room, stood Charles, Lonore’s husband, who was talking amiably to a man that he was certainly very familiar with — but it was not the man the boy had hoped for. He took in a slow breath, pushed down his disappointment, and then straightened himself as he walked in to greet them.

The two men paused in their conversation as he entered; while Charles smiled at the boy and beckoned him closer, the other man fell completely silent. He looked to be a few years older than himself and was dressed in a sensible suit that, while well-tailored, had been made of fabric dyed in drab, earthen tones. A delicate, embroidered handkerchief was tucked neatly into his breast pocket. 

The man’s green eyes widened under astonishingly-thick eyebrows as he looked the boy up and down. “My God, how you’ve grown.”

The boy felt his face heat up, however he resisted the urge to drop his gaze to the floor. “…Hello, England,” he replied, voice feeling displaced from his body. Charles made a noise of surprise and folded into a low bow, and England nodded his head once and gestured for him to straighten.

The nation cleared his throat and his lips turned up into a smile that looked like it was trying to be sincere, but wasn’t quite hitting the mark. He stepped forward and held out a hand. “I know it’s been a while, but I’m happy to see you looking so well, Quebec.”

The boy hesitated for a short moment, but then stepped forward to shake England’s hand. “I still kind of like being called Canada,” he said softly.

England clasped his other hand over their joined ones. “I can understand,” he said, and the boy was a little surprised at his gracious tone. “Dealing with a change of name can be hard — especially when it’s your first.”

The boy bit his lip. “Would Matthew be okay, at least for now?”

“…That’s fine,” England said with a smile, and this one was much more genuine. Matthew found himself smiling back, and a small bubble of hope rose in his chest, daring him to think that maybe this visit wouldn’t be so uncomfortable as the ones before.

Charles, who had been standing back and watching the exchange, took this time to cut in. “So, you’re England, then,” he remarked with reverence. “It’s a pleasure to host you. Could I offer you anything? Tea, possibly?”

“Tea would be excellent, thank you,” England replied. 

The next few minutes found England and Matthew sitting in two armchairs across a small table before the unlit fireplace. Lonore came in with a modest tray and placed it between them with a small bow of her own, and England thanked her for her hospitality before taking his cup.

“…So, this system is working well for you?” England began, gesturing with his head to where Lonore had departed.

Matthew nodded, hands folded in his lap. “They’ve been with me for the past seven years,” he said. He looked out the window, where Charles had forsaken his only good coat for a simple, linen work shirt, lugging a plow hoe over his back. “They’re good people — they treat me well. Better than some others have. It’s worked out well.” 

England hummed in understanding while Matthew reached forward for his own teacup. He took a sip and continued. “It’s really great to see you. But, um… Well, please don’t take this the wrong way, but… I’m a little surprised you’re here? Especially given this year, and all. I’d have thought your attention would be directed… elsewhere?”

The nation let out a low exhale, running his fingers along the ribbing of the cup. “You’re very right,” he said, “this has been quite the year. And as for your brother… well.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not here to discuss your brother — at least, not in a direct sense. I do not intend on seeing him this time around.”

Matthew’s jaw dropped. “You’re… not?”

“No, I’m only here for you.”

The young colony sat back and stared at him. Never had England come to see him without involving his brother in some way. Even at his naming ceremony, Alfred had been there. Granted, the other boy had served as a much-appreciated buffer between himself and England — but still, he’d been invited without so much as a single thought toward Matthew’s feelings. As such, Matthew had never considered himself important enough in England’s eyes to warrant the other’s undivided attention.

As he watched the memories of the previous year flicker across England’s face, Matthew figured that even now, he didn’t necessarily have a complete monopoly of his time. But the nation was in _his_ house — not in Alfred’s. That was enough. Matthew felt himself smile around the lip of his cup and let the tea warm his insides.

“So, why are you here?” Matthew asked him.

England blinked himself out of his reverie. “I’m here to take you to Quebec. An important proclamation has been passed at Parliament.”

“Really? Of what nature?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to wait until you get there. It could be something of a surprise that way. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

“…Oh, okay,” Matthew said, though his curiosity had only managed to grow in response. “I haven’t been to town since last week. Are you staying there?”

“Yes. I’ve booked a room at this quaint inn — the one with the red roof?”

“Oh! Yes, I know the one. I’ve never stayed there, but I know the owners. They’re nice.” Matthew’s eyes settled on a stray thread poking out from the arm of his chair, and he picked at it. “You know, I’m not sure when you’re leaving… but if you’d like to stay here with us, I’d love- I mean, you’re more than welcome to. It could save you some money — we have an extra room, and all. And Lonore is a wonderful cook.”

England seemed taken aback for a moment. “Matthew, that’s very kind of you,” he said as he gazed down into his teacup, his expression turning pensive. “True, my ship does not depart until for another ten days… Perhaps… Why, yes, actually, if you don’t mind. I would be glad to stay with you.”

_“Really?!”_ Matthew exclaimed. “That’s great! That’s really great!” He stood and wrung his hands with shy energy, rounding his chair. “Let me find Lonore, and we can set up the room — I mean, it’s clean, of course, but it may just need to be dusted a little. I can go open the windows right now to let in some fresh air- Oh, but I guess that wouldn’t make much of a difference at the moment, since your things are probably still in Quebec… But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to air it out a little extra for when you _do_ get here — yes, let me go do that!”

In his excitement, Matthew completely forgot his manners and hurried from the room, leaving England to chuckle quietly at the fireplace.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, England returned with a carriage to pick up Matthew. As the cabin jostled along the dirt road, the young colony pressed his thumbs together and looked out the window, relieved that the atmosphere between them had not reverted to the awkwardness of their past encounters. He glanced over to see England skimming a few documents he had pulled from his bag and wondered in admiration if he might ever grow to adopt such responsibility.

“So…” he said, breaking the silence, “have you seen France at all, lately?”

“Hm?” England hummed, looking up from his papers. “Come again?”

Matthew bit his lip and almost dismissed the matter altogether, but thought better of it and tried again. “Have you seen France at all, lately?” he repeated.

England stared at him, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp. “No, I haven’t.” He scoffed. “Who knows what that idiot is up to these days. I shan't be bothered with the likes of him.”

“…Oh,” Matthew said, looking back to the forest.

“Why do you ask?” pressed England, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh, I just… I’ve gotten some letters, of course, but he hasn’t come to- I mean, I haven’t seen him since… well…” England let out a noise of realization, and Matthew sighed. “I miss him,” he admitted quietly.

England sighed as well and shuffled his papers together into a straight pile. “I’m sure he’s poking around somewhere and will come to see you soon enough. He did always care for you. And I know many of your people care for him, as well.”

Matthew faltered and gaped at him. “You… you…” he stuttered. Outside of official talk, this was the first time England had ever admitted aloud to the majority of Matthew’s people still siding their allegiance with France.

“Yes, well,” England said as he cleared his throat, “I suppose it’s about time I should try becoming more lenient with you.”

Now even more baffled, Matthew shut his mouth and swallowed. Something was up, here, but he had no idea exactly what. Feeling antsy and at a loss for how to respond, he settled for once again staring out the window and tried not to pay attention to the trepidation that had begun to trickle down beneath the skin of his arms.

 

~*~

 

“Under the authority of British Parliament, let it be known that this proclamation shall be taken into effect immediately, and will be referred to from here out as ‘The Quebec Act of 1774’.”

‘Oh,’ Matthew thought. ‘ _Oh.’_

 

~*~

 

The night before England’s departure, Matthew lay in his bed and stared up at the slatted ceiling, listening to the quiet chirping of crickets outside. As he traced the grain of the wood with his gaze, he continued to mull over the events of the announcement — something he had done many times since. When England had mentioned there’d been a proclamation, regardless of his assurance of its positivity, Matthew had expected something along the lines of a new kind of tax, or perhaps the announcement of more troops settling in to fortify the city. Never could he have predicted the reinstating of French civil law in his colony; or the acquisition of an amount of land that now allowed him to rival the size of his brother; or — and most shockingly — the granting of _religious freedom_ for his _Canadien_ people.

Matthew brought a hand up in front of his face and stretched out his fingers to inspect them, suddenly making the connection as to why he’d been experiencing growing pains for the past month.

 

“Why?” he had asked back on that day, as they prepared to leave Quebec.

“Because,” England grunted, hauling the heaviest of his travel bags onto the carriage. He exhaled and clapped his hands together to rid them of any lingering dust. “We are well aware of the growing discontent among your people. I don’t want…” He trailed off and instead opted to busy himself with climbing into the carriage.

_‘…I don’t want to deal with two uprisings at once,’_ Matthew mentally inferred as he entered behind him.

England continued. “Perhaps some leniency will soothe tensions between us. Believe it or not, I _do_ want you to be happy.”

As Matthew sat, folding the tails of his coat underneath him, he felt the warmth of England’s recognition spread through his chest. He let himself bask in it for a moment, before pressing on. “How do you think the Americans will handle the news?”

England looked out the window as the carriage began to move. “Hopefully this will come across as an example of what might be available to them, should they reconsider their lack of cooperation with the crown.”

 

_Clunk._

Matthew was startled out of the memory. He sat up, scrambled to the edge of his bed, and scanned his room for the source of a noise that had sounded like something hard hitting his dresser. On the woven rug before him sat a small, innocent rock; Matthew reached down to pick it up, and then gasped as another sailed through his open window, just barely clearing his head. He rushed to the window and leaned over the sill.

“ _Alfred!_ ” he let out in a harsh whisper.

There, in the garden, stood Matthew’s brother, arm poised high above him with a third rock in hand. 

Alfred lowered his arm and called up to him, “Hey, let me up!”

Matthew winced at the volume of the other boy’s voice and swiveled around to listen for any signs of activity within the house. Once he was sure of the its stillness, he hissed “Alright, but please be quiet!” before grabbing some of his sheets to tie together into a makeshift rope. He threw it over the sill, and Alfred used it to scale the side of the house to Matthew’s room on the second floor. 

Once inside, Alfred immediately walked over to his bed and plopped down. “Can you _believe_ this?” he groaned.

“Yes, hello to you, too,” Matthew said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “You know, this is a _really_ bad time to visit…”

Alfred continued as though he hadn’t even bothered to listen. “I mean, I left as soon as I heard the news — can you _actually_ believe this? The _nerve_ of that bastard!”

“What do you mean?”

“This!” Alfred exclaimed, gesturing widely to nothing in particular. “All of this! This entire year has been nothing but blow after blow! And I’m getting _fed up_ with all of it. The _Coercive Acts?_ Yeah, right! _My_ people have begun to call them the _Intolerable Acts_. He’s completely disrespecting us! We deserve representation! We need to rise up for liberty! For _freedom!”_

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Matthew said, hands held up in the air. “The _Intolerable Acts_? I hope you aren’t meaning to include the Quebec Act in this, as well.”

Alfred scoffed. “Of course I’m including it! Look at him, thinking he can bait us like this. _I_ say that he can shove his false promises up his-“

“The Quebec Act concerns me and my people,” Matthew interjected, frowning. “It has nothing to do with the other proclamations that _you_ brought upon yourself.”

Alfred stopped in the middle of his rambling and gaped at him. “It has _everything_ to do with the others! This is the time to _fight,_ Matt!”

“Alfred, listen to yourself. For the first time in a decade, England is finally giving me the time of day, and you’re throwing a fit!”

“Your people are going to turn on each other,” Alfred continued with a scowl. “Your Anglo settlers won’t be happy with the revival of Papism in the colony. And Parliament is going to control your entire government — even _more_ so than they already are. You’re losing all autonomy over choosing your own leaders!” 

Matthew faltered. Alfred had just hit multiple points of concern that had been growing in his own mind over the past week and a half. Points that Matthew had been hoping to put off at least until England’s departure, so as to not ruin the remainder of their rare time together.

“Join me, Matt,” Alfred urged him. “We can push him out and grow larger, together!”

Matthew paused at that. “You’re upset about the expansion, aren’t you?” he said, squinting as he stepped forward. “That land had no colonial claim to it — it wasn’t yours to lose.”

“With more space comes more resources. Expansion is the key to our livelihood — we could build an empire to rival the likes of those in Europe!”

“ _We?_ ” Matthew echoed. “I’m not _yours_ , Alfred.”

Alfred made a strangled noise. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Hm. Sure.”

A knock sounded on the other side of the door. “Matthew? I thought I heard something going on in there, is everything alright?” Matthew drew in a sharp breath, while Alfred’s jaw dropped. Another knock came. “Please excuse me for intruding, I’m just a bit concerned…”

Alfred leapt over to the door and threw it open. “What are _you_ doing here?!”

England stood frozen on the other side of the threshold. “A- _America?_ ” he ground out, looking very pale. “What- Why-“

“You bastard,” Alfred growled. “Did you seriously come over here to _personally_ add another shackle to your colonies?”

“I… I beg your pardon?” England said, slowly ridding himself of his shock.

“You heard me!”

“… _Shackle?”_ The nation recovered and let out a breathy, sardonic laugh. “Is that what you’ve taken to calling the reprimanding of a _temper tantrum?_ ‘ _Enslavement’?_ ” He scoffed. “Spare me your dramatic rhetoric.”

Alfred puffed out his chest and straightened to his full height. “I’m not a child. Not anymore. You can’t control me forever.”

“‘Not a child?’ Is that so?” England sneered, and Matthew was a little shocked at how quickly it had taken for the two to dissolve into this argument. “Galavanting around in Indian dress and destroying millions of dollars worth of commodities? Yes, Alfred, that is the very _pinnacle_ of maturity.”

“You taxed that tea! It was unjust!”

“After _reducing_ the price! Even with the tax, it was less expensive than before!” The color had returned to England’s face, and he was now very red. “God forbid I try to put myself in a better financial situation after the war!”

Alfred scowled. “It was taxation without representation! I had no say in that decision whatsoever. We’ve discussed this before, and we will continue to ‘ _discuss_ ’ it until you give me a voice over what happens in _my land!_ ”

“You are gravely mistaken, _boy_ , for it is _my land!_ ” England thundered. “The majority of this continent belongs to _me!_ ”

“Yeah? And for how long, I wonder!”

“ _Watch your tongue-_ “

“Alfred, England, please!” Matthew cried, stepping forward to try and placate the situation. “Calm down!”

But Alfred had rounded on England, so close now that he glaring down at him from over the tip of his nose. “I have many great people at my place. Great strategists and generals, and fighters, and writers — and they are all more than enough of a match for you. My patriots are loyal and true. We have more spirit than you could ever hope for!”

England scoffed, not the slightest bit intimidated by the colony towering over him. “Loyalty? To what? An _ideal?_ By all means, go ahead and place your faith in that — you will find soon enough that it is a very slippery slope to ask your men to place their loyalty in an _abstract concept_.”

“You’re a bastard,” Alfred growled. “Matt and I demand justice!”

“ _Alfred!”_ Matthew hissed.

England finally turned his attention to him. “And you,” he said lowly. “Passing out the knives while I slept in the other room, are we?”

“England, no, I didn’t-“

“I had thought better of you, _Quebec,”_ England said, and his voice was terrifying. “You should be thankful I didn’t dissolve you on the spot the moment France _gave you up_ to keep Guadeloupe. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been worth the trouble to build a new colony from scratch. You are terribly expensive to maintain as you are.”

Matthew’s hands dropped to his sides and his entire body went numb. England was telling a blatant lie — he knew that. What the nation was suggesting would have been impossible to carry out. The benefits of his fur trade, and his logging industry, and his cities… they were all too valuable to throw away. And besides, his population was too numerous. England couldn’t simply displace them all like he had the Acadians. 

…But… as for the comment on France…

England had meant for his words to hurt, and they certainly did — very badly. Matthew bit his lip and tilted his head to the ground, allowing his hair to cover his face from view.

The temperature in the air seemed to drop lower and lower by the second as an oppressive silence hung over the three. England shifted in discomfort, having realized that he’d crossed a major line. “…Matthew, I'm terribly sor-“

“Please,” Matthew whispered. “It’s… it’s fine.”

Alfred had stepped back from England. “It’s not fine,” his brother said to the older man in contempt. “You have no respect for us. This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

England shook his head. “That’s not true. I just want-“

“For us to follow your way and let you walk all over us whenever you like? Please. Spare _me_.”

“You have _no idea-_ “

“ _Stop,_ ” Matthew groaned, pushing a hand under his bangs. “Just. Stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead. Alfred moved forward to place a hand on his shoulder, but Matthew shrugged it off. “I want to be alone.”

“Matt… are you sure?” Matthew nodded in response, and Alfred relented. He took one last opportunity to scowl at England before sighing and moving to the window. Matthew’s brother propped a foot up on the sill, braced his hands on either side of the frame, and then vaulted through to the outdoors.

Matthew and England stood together in the silence of the darkened room. “…I am dreadfully sorry,” the man said after a long moment.

“It’s alright,” Matthew replied, but the words felt insincere. As he looked into the nation’s green eyes, he felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. He regarded it in shock, never having felt such a way toward England before, and as soon as he gave the emotion credence, tendrils of fear and doubt crept up to join it. The bundle rose into his throat and he had to struggle to get his next words out. “It’s late. If you wish to stay here, you’re still welcome. I can help you load your things into the carriage in the morning.”

England hadn’t seemed to notice Matthew’s subtle change in demeanor. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “…No, I think… I might go out for a ride. I’ll send someone for my bags in the morning.”

“Okay.”

The nation made his way to the door, but paused before he passed through it. “Matthew, I truly wish the best for you,” he said, voice soft.

“…Thank you.”

England sighed and departed.

 

~*~ 

 

A small wagon arrived in the morning to collect England’s belongings. Matthew watched from his bedroom window as a man exited the house with a couple of bags. He’d brought along his fiddle for comfort, but it lay abandoned on a nearby chair. Anxious thoughts raced through his head as he weighed the implications of the previous night over and over again. He wasn’t necessarily sure of what might exactly come of it all, but it was plain to see that tensions between America and England had risen to the point where a revolution seemed likely, to say the least.

But on which side were he to stand should it happen? …What if he were to not take sides at _all?_ Matthew doubled back and shook his head at his naivety. However dearly he as a person wished to remain neutral between the two, in practice, it would be impossible. 

Matthew shifted his attention to the spark in his chest that had grown to a small flame in only a few short hours. Last night, England had shown a side of himself that he’d never witnessed before, and Alfred’s words of response echoed in his mind. _“You have no respect for us.”_

…Perhaps Matthew understood Alfred’s plight a little better, now — even if he were not yet completely sure of his own stance on the matter.

“I’m very sorry,” came Lonore’s voice, and Matthew turned to find her standing at his side. “We heard the argument. Alfred came over, didn’t he?”

Matthew nodded and dragged his gaze back to the wagon below.

“I could see how happy you were to have Sir Kirkland here. I’m sure he will be back someday soon.”

The boy sighed. “Sure, but on what terms…?” Lonore let out a solemn hum and placed a hand on his back in sympathy. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Please. You mustn’t tell anyone of what happened.”

“Of course,” Lonore said. She gave him a light pat and smiled. “Let’s cheer you up. Come to the kitchens — I was planning on baking some bread. Take your fiddle and play for me while I make the dough.”

Matthew smiled back at her, feeling drained, but eager to take his mind off the night before. He grabbed his fiddle and abandoned his post at the window. Outside, the wagon carrying England’s belongings lurched into motion and headed off down the road that lead away from his house.

 

_End._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time tackling historical fiction! I have such a high level of respect for those who do this on a regular basis. It is very difficult, but so rewarding in the end!
> 
> I wanted to write a story centered on the American Revolution, but I had completely forgotten most of what I'd been taught in school. As such, I took the time to relearn it all over again throughout this past week. So many YouTube videos!
> 
> I want to thank Oliver, R. L. Siegfried, and Ed for sharing with me their knowledge on this subject. Thanks to Bee for hooking me up with Ukrainian history resources back when I was considering going down that route. Thanks to Erin and Rush for helping me sift through the many topics I was juggling at the start. Thanks to Rob, my awesome bf, for proofreading the narrative. And thanks to many others from T H E Vital Region 2.0 Discord server for cheering me on through a few cases of writer’s block!
> 
> The title is an allusion to “Both Sides, Now” (1969), by Joni Mitchell. The song has a bittersweet message about looking at life from contrasting points of view.
>
>>   
>  _“I've looked at life from both sides now_   
>  _From up and down, and still somehow_   
>  _It's life's illusions I recall_   
>  _I really don't know life at all”_   
> 
> 
>   
>  The duality can stand for multiple things: Matthew having trouble moving on from France’s influence; being torn between England and America’s ideals; the tensions rising among his Anglo settlers and _Canadien_ people; and his own desire on a personal level to maintain his autonomy while still wishing for England’s recognition.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
